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* * *
Adrik drivesme to the airport in Barcelona, a journey that takes us three days in the open-top Alfa Romeo, stopping in Piran to walk the sea wall, in Milan to shop in the Piazza del Duomo, and in Monaco to bet the last of our cash on black.
I’ve never spent so much uninterrupted time with someone. Usually, by the end of a date, no matter how well it went, I heave a sigh of relief when I’m alone again, free to eat what I like, read what I like, and wander through my own thoughts without interruption.
Even with Ilsa, spending too much time together was sure to end in an argument. Every one of our fights occurred because I was bored and started acting like a jackass, teasing her about things she takes too seriously, or challenging her in a way I knew was sure to wind her up. Or just flirting right in front of her.
Adrik has a thick skin. It’s hard to offend him. He has a level of confidence impervious to minor slights like me turning my head to get a better look at a stunning redhead sauntering by.
“You want to go talk to her?” he inquires without a hint of jealousy.
“Maybe,” I say. “I love gingers.”
“I know,” he laughs. “I’ve met Nix. I don’t think you offered to room with her out of the goodness of your heart.”
“I don’t perv on my roommates,” I inform him. “I only watched her change at most three or four times. Maybe five. But not more than six.”
Adrik chuckles. “If we’re not drawn to beauty, then why have eyes?”
“My thoughts exactly. Good food is for eating, fast cars are for driving, and beautiful women deserve to be ravished.”
“Life is for living,” Adrik concurs. “Take all you can get while there’s breath in your lungs.”
We’re in agreement on this topic, and many others.
The only point on which we differ is whether I should join my fate to Adrik’s for the foreseeable future.
He hasn’t brought it up again since our last dinner in Dubrovnik. Yet I know his offer is on both our minds, all the time.
Nix isn’t my roommate anymore. She left Kingmakers to move to Oregon, to be with Adrik’s cousin Rafe.
Adrik wants me to do the same: abandon my schooling and my ambitions in favor of his.
Everything within me rebels against the idea.
And yet, when he drops me off at the Barcelona airport, and I turn to see him standing by the Alfa, arms crossed over his chest, dark hair blowing in the breeze … for the first time, there’s no relief in the feeling of being alone again.
* * *
10
ADRIK
3 MONTHS LATER
I’ve come to Cannon Beach, ostensibly to visit my uncle and cousins, but really to see Sabrina.
We’ve kept in touch over the summer.
She’s been working with her father and brother during the day, at night rebuilding a vintage Indian motorcycle with her mother.
She sent me photos of the bike, and one or two of herself, though not the kind of pictures I’d request if I had my way …
I’m kicking myself for not filming any part of our three days together. I’d give a kidney to be able to watch Sabrina’s breathtaking body participating in those activities at which she is so phenomenally talented. I’ve run through my own memories so many times that I hardly know if I can believe them anymore. They seem dream-like and too fantastical to possibly be real.
After our trip, I went through withdrawal.
My first two weeks back in Moscow were miserable. I snapped at Jasper and Vlad, drank too much, and felt bored of my own plans, the ones I’d been formulating before I ever went to Dubrovnik.
